


Blood and Guilt? I've Got Those in Spades

by Earl_Grey



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Brainwashed Tony Stark, Hurt Tony Stark, M/M, Torture, Winter Soldier Tony Stark, eventual stuckony, mentions of stucky - Freeform, probably more characters idk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 12:18:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 21,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7361245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Earl_Grey/pseuds/Earl_Grey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Bucky are gone. Tony is laying on the concrete of an old Hydra Bunker. How he didn't see this kidnapping coming will forever be beyond him. </p><p>Warning: Extreme depictions of torture coming. Also, this fic gets a hell of a lot worse before it gets better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Between a Rock and a Hard Place

He wasn’t sure how long he had been laying on the cold concrete of the Hydra Base. Suit broken, another mangled thing for him to try and fix. Breathing heavily, tony stark raised his head and took stock of the damage. Not just to the facility itself, but to his own person. His breath was ragged, bruised ribs he assumed, and he had streams of congealed blood running down his face, matting his hair and goatee. He wasn’t exactly sure why he couldn’t just get up. Maybe try to find a way to radio for help. Of course the suit had a tracking device implanted in it, but Tony wasn’t exactly thrilled with the prospect of waiting in the bunker. He didn’t move, though he definitely knew that he should at least try. Looking to where his ex-friend and the murderer made their exit, he could only stare and try to piece together something resembling a thought process. That is, until he heard a rumbling sound, that then turned into a crackling sound, and then manifested itself into the side wall of the adjacent room being blown inward. Covering Tony in Debris.

“Fuck,” he let out a yelp. 

When the dust cleared, he could vaguely make out two shapes. Tall and muscular and dark amidst the dust.

“Um, hello?” 

“Mr. Stark? What a surprise” A voice tinted with a slight German accent began, “and here we thought it would be the other two. Though from the looks of it, they decided to make their getaway already. Oh well. Dog, if you would, I don’t want to dirty my hands so, you know the drill. Take him back to the aircraft, secure for travel, yada yada yada.” 

The man’s tone was friendly. Far too friendly. Tony recognized it, the nonchalance of his speech belied something far more dangerous than casual tone implied. Before Tony could think, much less create a plan of attack, the man’s companion sprang forward with a preternatural grace. He landed softly in front of tony before removing the black glove on his right hand and slowly extending it towards Tony’s face. He was covered by, or more along the lines of stuffed into, a trench coat and a low brimmed hat. Before the things grey index finger touched his forehead, Tony wondered how it had cleared the room like that. Well, it wasn’t so important he supposed, as when their flesh met Tony felt himself becoming extremely tired. Slinking back to the ground and closing his eyes.  
*  
He was awakened in a slightly less graceful manner. All of a sudden his senses flooded with pain. It felt like he was on fire. Like electricity was being pumped directly into him. When the agony relented, he opened his eyes and saw why. Electricity was actually being pumped into him. Great. He could feel the panic attack beginning already, he focused on breathing deeply, eyes scanning the room wildly. Unfortunately, the only thing he could surmise was that he was restrained to a metal slab, of which tall, dark and obviously not a rip off of Carmen Sandiego had attached a battery of some kind to. 

“Hey, sweetie, I get that I’m me and everything, but I usually don’t let sparks fly until after the first date.” He stated, mustering up as much casualness through his vocal cords that he could.

“Ah, we are up already, are we?” He heard a familiar voice inquire. “And with only a slight incentive. This is very good Mister Stark.” The voice came from above him and sounded as, if not more, cheery than before.  
“This means we can begin and begin and begin again.” The high pitched voice kept repeating “and again” over and over. 

Not good, Tony thought, not good at all. 

“So, do I get to see the lovely face of the person who wanted me all to themselves? I mean, it’s understandable, I’m me, but it seems a bit rude to hide yourself away like this while I’m on full display here.” 

“Oh my god, my manners!” The voice’s intonation changed to one of a light panic before tony heard light, quick steps approaching around his left side. Tony felt long, thin fingers caress the side of his face and cringed away from the contact. The man’s skin was like ice. Pale blue eyes looked at him as if he were a feast, the gazelingering passed long, disheveled blond hair. 

“I am ex-professor Samuel, well, we’ll have to leave it at a first name basis.” The man smiled sickly before continuing. “And this,” He gestured to the mass of bulk and clothing, “Is Dog. It isn’t good for much but it has its uses. Don’t you?” 

The henchman made no recognition of the words being spoken, simply stood there with the positive and negative ends of the battery still in its hand.

“And you, are no longer Tony Stark.” The blond finished. Smile growing wider. 

“And how do you figure that?” Tony asked, “and also, what the hell is your game plan? A ransom or something, get you into one of my bank accounts? Revenge?”

“Oh, no no no, Mister Stark. You see, we are, well, Hydra. A different sect of Hydra but Hydra none the less.” The blond moved to Tony’s other side, still talking as the engineer began to pale. “You see, with the recent . . . humiliations our little organization has been victim of, though that isn’t the Avengers fault, rather the incompetent leaders of that sects, we here have decided to make another super soldier. A better super soldier.”

“Oh, great.” Tony scoffed, “So what, you break out the multi headed sparklers, try to pack my head full of that good ol’ hail hydra pizazz, and hope something sticks. Spare me. Shield has approximate knowledge of your methods. You might as well just kill me now.” 

“Mister Stark!” The man beamed, “That is exactly why I was so happy to find you instead of the failure and that star spangled . . . dickhead? Yes, I believe that’s the right term. Not only are the more resistant ones far more fun to break, the conditioning sticks so much better. Something about a stubborn personality, you know.” At that he let out a chuckle, wiping a strand of blond hair away from his eyes.

“And” he whispers this directly into Tony’s ears, stale breath ghosting over his face while the doctor’s hands wave in front of the engineer’s eyes with the dexterity of a magicians, “The failure was taken by a more brawn over brain facility. Yeah, they had some fancy science, but compared to me they were meatheads and, as you would probably say. . .”

The tips of the doctor’s hands flicker for an instant, flesh yielded to metal as five scalpels replace the nubs. The doctor then placed the tips of the blades near Tony’s stomach before violently tearing across the man’s abs. During his screams of anguish, Tony could make out the last words whispered before succumbing to the blackness. 

“Sweety, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony wakes up again. Tony is still in a dark room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blood and torture and old "friends," oh my!
> 
> This chapter is very violent and pretty bloody. Use your noggin if you're thinking of reading it but have a weak constitution.

The first thought tony had upon waking, was that he was going to throw up. Waves of nausea cascading up and down his spine and depositing not so neatly into his stomach. Sucking in a deep breath before opening his eyes, he found himself approximately where he figured he’d be. Still contained. Still strapped into the chair. Though this time it appears they beefed up the security a bit. Instead of leather braces, smooth arcs of metal wrapped over his arms, wrists, legs, and stomach. He also noticed that he couldn’t move his head. Judging by the weight on his throat, there must have been a band of metal occupying that space as well. 

"Oh, great" the thought rolled around in his head accompanied with a chorus of “don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic.”

Midway through the delightful romp into his now chaotic head space he heard a loud bang. Then a rolling sound. Then a door opening and silent, almost inaudible footfalls approaching. 

Reinforced door, one portion of his brain supplied.  
Not the main issue right now. Another pointed out. 

“Ah, Mister Stark! Welcome to another wonderful day in paradise.” The voice which belonged to his captor was no less cheery or off putting than it had been on their previous visit. “We have so much to do today. So much to test. It’s going to be a wonderful day for science you know.” 

With that the doctor snapped his fingers and exited the room without giving Tony a chance to respond. He heard the door slam, and to his surprise, felt the cold metal on his throat sliding across flesh and releasing his head from its fixed position. 

He quickly turned as much as he could to survey the room but came up with approximately the same conclusion he had made from waking the first time. He was in a room, it was dark, and there was a light. A very bright light that seemed to shine down on him, and only him. It didn’t cut into the abyss that surrounded him. Clerical and sterile light.   
Tony could almost laugh. It would be bitter, of course, but he still could.

“Literally put me in the spotlight, eh Samuel?” He mused under his breath. “Well, watch me-“ 

He hadn’t been able to utter the rest. He heard the door open again. Shut again. The spotlight above him seemed to dim a bit. 

This wasn’t the part that bothered him the most though. No, what set him on edge was the footfalls. Not clumsy and heavy. Not light and ghostly. They were still light. But this time, there was a sharpness to them. A click of heel on stone.   
Click. Click. Click. The footsteps circled him. There was a figure dancing on the edge of the darkness. Playing a game of cat and mouse with his eyes.

His head kept turning. Tony wanted to ignore it. To ignore the game and just ask what it wanted. To stare straight ahead until it gave up. But he couldn’t. Even as a kid he could never manage to keep his eyes shut for the surprise. It drove Jarvis crazy during Christmas.

That was when he heard it approach from behind. His head fell back against the support of the chair, he couldn’t see behind him anyway because of the chair’s natural bulk. He was going to get his answer though, finally. 

“Hello, Tony, looks like you’ve gotten yourself into another predicament, no?” 

The voice shook him from the meager resolve he had built up. Tried to maintain from the first few minutes since the thing had entered the room.

“Romanoff?” His voice stuttered out, raw and hopeful. “Thank god . . . or something. Get me out of here!” 

“You know Tony.” A demur voice began,” They say the hands of an artist are a thing of beauty.”

Tony’s face twisted in confusion. “Natasha, what…?”

The clicking came around to his right. She was there. Black widow getup and all. But her face, Tony realized, was far too calm for the situation. 

“But I’m not sure, Tony, about an engineer’s hands. I’ve never really thought about artists and scientists in the same manner.” Her voice was dreamy, distant. “But I’m sure in the end they mean the same to both.” 

It took a second for him to process her reaching out and touching his hands with her slender fingers. It took him another second to process the loud pop he heard a second later. The pain, however, he processed immediately. 

“Fuck!” He ground out. Head swinging forward, looking at his hand, now minus a pinky finger. “What the fuck are you doing!?”

She seemed to ignore him. Eyes still glassy, dreamy even. 

“Now, Tony, I know you didn’t major in biology. But I’m sure you probably have an above average grasp of human anatomy. You’re smart, and all those people who’ve shared your bed. . .” She slid to his other side, hands trailing up his arm and across his shoulders as she did so, before leaning down towards him. Her gaze captured his and she smiled a slight, sad smile. “So, I’m sure you know that the ring and pinky fingers comprise most of your grip strength.”

Another pop. More swearing. More blood spilling onto the wide armrests his hands occupied. Another pinky finger missing. He writhed far more this time though. 

“Natasha please! Please stop. I don’t know what I did but I’m sorry, okay. I’m sorry.” Tony’s words were frantic. 

“Oh, Tony. I can’t. Especially when you aren’t even pleading for the right reasons. You’re doing it for the pain. You’re a futurist Tony. You should be begging me to stop because an Engineer without any hands might not be an engineer at all. Might not have a future. Not because it hurts.” Natasha’s words were calm. Her smile malicious. 

Another pop. Ring fingers gone. 

Jesus, when did she get to both? His mind tried to regain its bearings. But panic was swelling in his guts and his lungs. He vomited over the side of the chair where Natasha wasn’t. 

More pops. More blood. Goodbye middle fingers. Introducing whimpering. 

She waves a hand in front of his face. Displaying the small, hidden blade in her palm. It was stained black. Though, it was also now starting to look like it was stained red. He couldn’t miss the red. If he weren’t trying to keep his retching to a minimum, he’d probably have made a joke about how fast she could take a man apart. Now, however, didn’t seem like the time for jokes.

“Of course,” her voice cut into the silence once again. “Your middle and ring fingers are for fine motion. Arguably more important to a man of science such as yourself. All that tinkering, y’know?” 

Tony wasn’t exactly sure what was happening after that point. He registered more pops. More talking. Definitely more pain. But it seemed like one second she had just cut off his middle finger, and the next his hands were now bare of anything that could be considered a digit. Just blood. So much blood. 

“Hello” Natasha’s singsong voice woke him up from his minds drowsiness. “Ah, there we go. Check out for a little bit sleepyhead? That’s okay. I do good work, it’s understandable.” 

She was now standing in front of him. Critical, hard eyes evaluating. 

“Now I know you don’t want to hear this, but we still have a long way to go. I was told to do away with your hands. That was the order. But, I was also ordered to have some fun. The last few weeks . . . the problem over the accords, they’ve have been so stressful.”

She gets closer. If he could, he’d phase through the back of the chair. Throw himself off a building or into a pit of fire just to get away from her. 

“But I’m not completely unfair. Just practical. So, Tony, would you like to keep your tongue, eyes, ears, or nose? You get to choose two.” 

He’s sure he goes even paler.

*

He hears her leave. Blood pouring from his mouth and down the front of his face. It’s hard to breathe. 

He’s not really sure what he feels right now. Maybe, nothing?

Well, that and a weird stinging sensation.

*

“So, how did I do doc?” Natasha Romanoff was standing in front of Samuel, voice monotone and expression blank.

Well, not the actual Natasha Romanoff, Samuel figured, but hey, semantics at this point are irrelevant. 

“Wonderful mein hund, just wonderful. It’s as I hypothesized. Giving a person a large dose of the serum does indeed contribute to enhanced physical abilities. But if the individual is in a constant state of being harmed and healing, the serum binds far more readily.” 

His fingers drum across the desk, eliciting a steady thrum of upbeat rhythm as he paused mid speech. He then leaned back in his chair, eyes focused in concentration, before continuing. It would have been disconcerting if it hadn’t been used to this by now. Suddenly, he seemed to have realized that he stopped. He cleared his throat and continued.

“Also, considering the modifications I made, the compound itself should have Mister Stark all healed and ready for another round in, say, three day? Yes, that sounds about right. Then we’ll continue with the restructuring of his psyche.” 

He rose from his chair, and came around the desk. Walking past the faux Romanoff and to the door. 

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting to attend to and you have to focus on your costume change for the next act! How exciting!”

With that, he pulled on a heavy coat, turned off the light, and left the jerking figure of Natasha Romanoff in his office. Not peering back once as he closed the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two is up and on schedule! Thanks for the kudos and the Comments, seeing people actually comment on this makes me really happy. Next chapter, Tony gets beat up some more and maybe puts up more of a fight than Samuel had been expecting.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might be a bad person.

He awoke. Again. Stiffness settling into his muscles, and only stiffness. Which was odd, considering that Tony Stark had been pretty sure he’d been in quite a lot of pain before. Career ending pain, life ending even. But here he was, still kicking. The world really did have a sense of humor.

Tony tenses, testing his oddly unharmed body. Feet, Check. Abs, check. Torso, check. Making his way up what should have been his corpse, he waivered at his hands. Figuring it was time to test the limbs, now torn asunder by something that was obviously not Natasha Romanoff. Lips turns upwards as he allowed himself to ruminate on pain. He’d suffered enough of it in his life. Swam through the rising tides to come out of it alive. Never fine, but still breathing. It always amazed him that there was still always more that came his way. That after the first tidal wave came another and another. Always taller. Always crashing harder. This was probably why his brain had allowed him the notion. The notion that Natasha was actually there. 

Well, that or Hydra mojo, he figured.

Nagging self-pity aside, his hands tensed, and he felt everything. Not in terms of pain. But, to his surprise, he felt his fingers. Straining, and his gripping so hard that his nails dug into the rugged flesh of the engineer’s hands. 

Tony’s eyes immediately snapped open only to find that the beam of light usually focused on his chair was, quite inconveniently, gone.

“Goddamn Nazi’s. Can’t make anything easy.” He mumbled, willing his eyes to adjust to the darkness.

Internally, he knew seeing shouldn’t always be believing. Wanda had taught him that one. You use your eyes too much, you tend to focus on the wrong things. Gaze too deeply into the well when your concentration should be on the footsteps behind you. The feeling of the blade being pressed to your back. So Tony closed his eyes and took stock. He had all of his fingers. He, apparently, had his nose and tongue back as well. He had to wonder in the entirety of that event had just been a hallucination. A sick game of sorts. But he quickly dismissed the idea. It had felt real. God, it had felt real. 

Natasha had sounded like herself as well. Hell, Tony had seen some of her interrogations in the shield archives. None of them were as bloody as the one he had been privy to experience himself, but they had been similar. Her whole persona was a weapon. As an ex weapon designer he could appreciate her nuances. The way her tone got under a person’s skin. Only to rip open said skin a second later. 

She’s a good person, he mused, but she’s also a viper.

He had wondered how he hadn’t seen it before. Well, in truth, he had. But he gave of himself so easily. He knew it, the world knew it. But in the end it wasn’t enough. Tony Stark can buy a lot but he couldn’t buy respect. Or loyalty. He should of known he would have to go it alone. Have to swallow the water and bear the weight of the wave upon himself. Or watch others end up strewn upon the rocks. Like Rhodey.

Wondering how things had turned out like this wouldn’t do anything to improve his situation, he knew. But he had been an addict, and guilt wasn’t one of the things that had been poured down the sink with his liquor. Sometimes, he felt like it was the only thing he had. Well, more accurately it was the only thing he really had. Sitting in a dark room and strapped to a chair. He’d even had parts of his body taken from him. 

It was at this point that the truth of the Doctor’s words had set in. He really was going to be a super soldier. They had already tampered with his genetics, apparently. Had changed him even on a biological level. Tony wouldn’t have been surprised if they even imprinted their logo on his cells, wondered if his cells reproduced in snake-like tendrils. Personally, he liked the avenger’s logo better.  
-  
The lights flickered on suddenly. Sending him bolting upright. He was unsure when he had dozed off again. Time felt loose to him here, to say the least. Upon hearing the door open once more, he turned. Steeling his resolve for whatever new pain was about to be inflicted upon him.

Well, that was the plan. Until he saw the red, white, and blue enter the light. Saw the righteousness ever present in Steve Roger’s gaze. Then his resolve melted. Molten chunks crashing down into his stomach once again. 

“Hey Tony,” Cap’s voice rang out, as commanding as it ever had, “I know you’re tied up and everything, but I thought I’d drop in.” The not Captain America chuckled to himself, pleased with the pun.  
“Shut it and let’s get this over with. I’m not into pain, which not my thing but if you marketed that you could probably get people to pay a pretty penny for at least an hour, and I don’t know how you’re doing this. But I do know you’re not cap.” Tony kept his voice steady. Forceful. Plastered a smirk on his face before continuing. “And furthermore, you’re too loose. Try shoving a stick up your ass. You’ll be more in character.”

The fake captain laughed. A chuckle escaping through his teeth. 

“Well, you are a smart one Mr. Stark. The doctor said you would be but, others thought that maybe under duress you would be a little less lucid. Guess that was their mistake. Not that it matters. . . “He trailed off, it was then that Tony noticed he was holding something behind his back. He seemed to be fiddling with it. 

“Well, you know. MIT and all that.” Tony said.

“But alas. . . Darn, cap wouldn’t say that, would he? Not so poetic, the boy from Brooklyn. Oh well. This is more of an exercise in subconscious manipulation anyway. Nothing too fancy, y’know” He slipped into a Brooklyn accent, “Ah, that’s better.” The thing was speaking to itself at this point, more than him, he realized. Before Tony was able to rationalize or analyze his actions, the thing took what was behind its back and in the blink of an eye plunged it into Tony’s thigh before confidently bounding out of Tony’s sight. 

Tony grits his teeth before hearing some rattling. Footsteps come towards him. He feels his other thigh being pierced by what appeared to be a long, metal rod. This continued for some time. The imitation Captain taking his time piercing Tony’s body. The metal was pushed through slowly, and he was sure the thing could feel every muscle separating. Every bit of viscera that popped apart at the end of the rod. The scrape of bone against metal. At least he thought his torturer could feel every vibration, if his vicious smirk was anything to go by. But by that point he wasn’t exactly in an observant mood. Deliriously, he thought that maybe he looked like a porcupine, with these ten rods the shot into various parts of his body.  
“Now, I don’t want you to think this is the main attraction. Back in the day, we had a pretty good grasp on how to go slow and build up the tension. New movies nowadays don’t have the same moxie if you ask me. But this?” The figured left the circle of light once again, only to return a short while later, “This is the climax.” He gives his best movie scene thumbs up and flashed a smile, winking a second later.

“Oh, fuck you!” Tony spit, now gazing at what appeared to be the positive and negative ends of something that was most likely connected to an electrical source. 

“Language!” The shadow of his friend chastised, “And besides. I don’t think you’d have a chance with me anyway.” Another feral smirk. A flash of perfect teeth. Then the ends of the cables found their way to a rod.

And that is how Tony Stark found out what it was like to be baked alive. Cells catching alight and muscles feeling like flame incarnate as electricity ran through him. His entire body felt like it was contracting. He was sure he was going to break something. The chair restrained every movement of his body, which at this very moment was trying to spasm out of his chair. 

This went on for a long, long while. 

Tony can’t feel anything after round 31.

Tony’s body seemed to be giving out on him. 

Tony blacks out.  
-  
When he awakens, once again, he finds he can move. Much more freely than he had been able to for a while. Eyes sliding open languidly, he finds himself not in the chair. Rather, his slumped over form is collapsed on the floor. His tongue roams around his mouth. He’s chipped some teeth. Grumbling, he stands. Still wreathed in a circle of light. 

Obviously a trap, He thinks. This is definitely too good to be true. But he also figures that he’s Tony Stark. A very much improved Tony Stark. With a new body. He thinks about his options and decides upon a tried and true method that has gotten him through many situations in his life. He wings it. 

Running forward, he’s heard the door open enough time to know its approximate location, he finds it open. His awkward and clumsy frame stumbles into a dark hall. Barely lit. He runs. The sound of his bare feet pounding on the cement as his newly empowered muscles get their bearings is the only thing he hears. Synapses firing and brain pathways being created anew to help him utilize this new form. Eventually, the halls get colder. The path gets lighter. Tony Stark finds himself spilling out into a large, domed area. Another ring of light. Bathing not a friend or that monstrosity in a trench coat. Who he saw illuminated was Samuel. The mad doctor looking like some mad angel and barring his exit. 

“Well, I have to say. As far as set ups go, this is pretty ballsy, Sammy baby.” Tony’s words dripped false confidence and bravado. His face displayed neither though. His eyes alert. This room wasn’t like the other though. There was no “dog” or any other guard that could be seen. Only the two men and the vast expanse of white and blue that bathed in blond in frigid light. 

“Well, this is a bit dramatic, but what hasn’t been?” Samuel retorts, “The most impactful things on the mind are.” 

“So what’s the big idea? The door closes if I go near it? That monstrosity comes out from the shadows and takes me down again?” Tony starts walking toward the other man.

“Not at all Mr. Stark.” Samuel states, a childish smile painting his face. “Beat me and you’re out.” 

They stand in front of each other. Tony knows this is a trap, but it’s probably going to be the only chance he gets. Trap or no, he’s made his decision. Take down the doctor and make his way out. Find something to leave wherever this was. Get home.

New body but I’m gonna have to work with it, he reasons.

Tony’s brain goes silent in preparation for what he’s intending to do. His mind screams kill. Muscles tighten in response. 

“Unless,” Samuel adds, “You just want to be a good boy and get back in the chair.” 

That’s all it takes for Tony to throw the first punch. Just like Natasha had taught him. She’d insisted on close quarter combat training. He’s have to remember to thank her personally if this new addition to his ptsd hall of fame allowed it. 

His fist moved at a blinding speed. His heel turned. Tony Stark had struck with his all and hit . . . nothing? In fact, all Tony could feel was multiple tearing sensations throughout his body and the image of the doctor fading out in front of him. He fell, collapsing onto the floor in pain. He can’t move and his brain can’t make any connections as to how he’s been rendered useless. That is, until a voice cuts in somewhere behind him.

“You know,” Samuel’s voice began, “That wasn’t bad. If you had been a bit further along, maybe adjusted for my build and agility, that might have actually killed me Mr. Stark. But as you are now . . . well, you can see for yourself.” 

Samuel chuckled then. Casting a glance backward at the mass on the floor before continuing.

“You did give me a fright though. So congratulations.” Walking over to the face down and bleeding Tony Stark, Samuel raised his foot and brought the heel of a very expensive looking shoe down upon Tony’s spine. The engineer heard a grating sound, but no snapping. Samuel cleared his throat and spoke again. 

“Here’s what we are going to do.” His voice was so matter-of-fact Tony would have sworn he learned it in an after school special. “We, or more-so dog, are going to put you in the chair again. Then we are going to fry your brain, move some things around inside your head, introduce you to some more torture, some more subconscious manipulation, and begin to burn out your personality until only something useful remains.” Tony was breathing hard, still unable to move. Still helpless. 

“And after that, Mr. Stark, we’ll run this entire play over again, and over again, and over again. Until we reach this exact spot and you give me a run for my money. It won’t be easy, but if we stick together, I’m sure we can accomplish our goal.” The doctor winked at Tony, but let a petulant expression slip over his features when he realized the man wouldn’t be able to see the gesture. With that, the doctor picked up one of Tony’s arms, and dragged him back to the beginning. Kicking and screaming.

-2 Years Later-  
It had taken some time, but Samuel had accomplished what he had set out to do. It had taken Wanda literally toying with Stark’s brain, an impromptu brain surgery. It had taken Vision feeding Tony his own limbs, remarking on the different cooking methods. Around and around Tony stark was torn asunder by friends and relatives before being released from the chair. Each time he came to the same domed area with dog waiting. Each time he was beaten into the ground. But each time he also came a little further before being trampled underfoot and having his brain fried with a mixture of electricity and a manipulation of brain chemistry and chanted words.

Samuel had always theorized that the winter soldier programming had been too basic. A few words and a blast of current through the brain could work in the short term. But there were nuances that had to be driven into the psyche, and driven hard. Before a person could become a complete weapon, they had to willingly give up on their own sense of self. Of the things that tied them to their own personality. Hydra had been too negligent with Mr. Barnes. Of that Samuel was sure.

Of course, Mr. Stark, or rather, Kampfhund, had his own set of trigger words. But these were far more binding. The most promising part of his and the good doctor’s time together had been when Stark had simply stopped responding. No tears nor insane laughter nor anger. Just blankness. It filled Samuel’s heart to the brim to think of it. The culmination of his work had led to this. Well, this detachment and as he has just seen on the monitor overlooking the dome, his original dog had just been slaughtered in a gruesome, one sided battle. 

He had to admit, it was a little off putting to see his body torn into shreds like that. But overall, he was still elated. His subject didn’t even try to run after its victory. It had achieved its goal and was awaiting orders.

Just like a good doggy, Samuel mused.

Humming an old tune from his childhood, the doctor rose. Ready to give the hound his list of words and new orders. This was going to be an exciting time for Hydra indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. That happened.


	4. Chapter 4

The city, he didn’t exactly know nor care where he was, was dusty. Dusty and very dim. Particles of dirt and sand swirling through the air with so much velocity even his goggles were having trouble locating the target. He was gazing down into the darkness of a somewhat deserted street. Like a vulture inhabiting the roof of a five story building, eyes locking on and eventually dismissing the faces of the few people who ventured out into the night. His eyewear formed red identification circles on the faces of each. 

No. 

No.

Not an applicable target.

The new Winter Soldier was unsure as to whether the target was going to show up at all. Though he considered this for a mere second before erasing the thought as quickly as possible from his consciousness. His handler told him that the target would be here eventually. The target would show up. It’s just how these things worked, he’d been told. His handler was always right. He remembered how dissent was dealt with. 

In the end, his handlers were, as usual, correct. The soldier looked on as a car appeared in front of him. Well, more accurately, below him. The model was far more expensive than the other cars littering the street. Two men exited the front and got on either side of the back door facing the sidewalk. They scanned the area before opening the door and waiting. The soldier could tell they were moderately trained. Lean muscle, much like his own, showing through expensive suits. Earpieces and from what he could assume, hand guns hidden in holsters near their breast. 

A new man, older, came out from the car. Slowly moving out from the seat, the man stood and took in the night. Seemed to breathe deeply before smiling. Gazing up. 

Probably not expecting his death, the soldier reasoned, this was good. 

The assassin’s gaze focused on the elder’s face. Immediately the red ring of light turned green. A positive identification. In that split second, his directions were sent. His first objective would be to dispatch the old man. Most efficient method preferred. The second objective would be the elimination of the guards and any other witnesses. The method of their deaths would be up to him. 

His face, tense from integrating the orders into his being, his very sense of self, then slacked and remained motionless. Stepping onto the ledge, there was no hesitation as he then took a practiced leap from the building. Falling quickly. Plummeting through the air until his outstretched feet collided with the elderly man’s face. Until his weight drove the head beneath his feet into the ground. Until all he saw nothing under him but pulverized flesh and chunks of brain matter and blood. Quite a bit of blood. Also, the now dumbfounded faces of the man’s bodyguards. 

There was a second of silence as the men looked at this stranger. Dressed in clothes little better than a bum’s, and now currently residing between them. His boots were buried deep in gore. His legs seemed to be twitching, in between making popping and clicking sounds. Their daze seemed to dissipate quickly however, faced with the notion of their own mortality, as they both went to draw their weapons. The soldier righted himself. Gracefully delivering a kick to the guard on his right, sending him flying a few feet before sprawling. 

Ensuring one of his targets was at least slightly debilitated, the soldier flew at the other man, who had only just pointed his gun at the target before his gun was knocked away. Even worse than that, the man observed that the reason his gun was knocked away was because he couldn’t hold it. Also, the reason he couldn’t hold his gun was because it appeared that both of his arms, the forearm and the elbow, had both been broken in what seemed like an instant. He only had time to process this information and ready a scream before the blur of his opponent’s hands were at his throat. 

There wasn’t even a scream before the assassin snapped the man’s neck with such force the skin tore open and the now corpse was nearly decapitated. The soldier smirked. His progress was good. Last time he had let someone scream he had been tortured for six days before forced immediately on another mission. The smirk quickly disappeared. There was no need for a weapon to have a sense of purpose or satisfaction, or at least that’s what he’d been told. Turning his attention to the man now struggling to recover from his kick, he cleared the distance between them with a quick and practiced precision before raising his enemy by the throat and giving him the same treatment of his comrade.  
Fleeing the crime scene was always the hardest part in the soldier’s opinion. Too many variables. Tell him to kill someone and he would. The killing was easier.

Tapping a button on the side of his goggles, his eyes spelled out a message to his handler. That message being:  
MISSION COMPLETE. ALL TARGETS DESTROYED. NO ADDITIONAL SECONDARY TARGETS NEUTRALIZED BESIDES THOSE OUTLINED. REQUESTING PICKUP AND IMMEDIATE EXTRACTION AT POINT DELTA. 

He tapped the button again. The message was sent. He was on his way back to the extraction point.

That was what he thought, however, before two projectiles embedded themselves in his shoulder. They also, much to his slight chagrin, were electrified. Though they weren’t there for long. His hand moved at an incredible speed to rip out the projectile and fling it to the street. He then ran. First rule passed down to him: Flee first when something goes outside of mission parameters and ask for instruction before continuing. Fleeing in between alleyways and passed rickety doors, his thumb went to the opposite side of his goggles and flipped a switch. Black cloth slid down his face before connecting to the slim, adaptive battle wear he wore underneath his normal clothing. 

Quickly, he sent another message.

URGENT. COMPROMISED. ATTACKED. WILL USE EVASION UNTIL GIVEN DIRECT ORDERS. 

He breaks into a small shack, uses the knife on his belt to kill the man and woman inside and sits low. The reply comes back seconds late.

ORDERS: SLAUGHTER ATTACKER(S). WILL PROVIDE COM ASSISTANCE.  
SECONDARY ORDERS: NEUTRALIZE ALL WITNESSES.  
EXTRACTION POINT CHANGED TO BRAVO UPON COMPLETION.

He breathed a sigh of relief. There were orders and as a bonus he was even going to get help. This was unusual, but certainly not unwelcome. He slid two fingers under the raggedy pants he had appropriated and found the com in one of the pockets of his gear. Popping the small piece of plastic into his ear. There was a second or two of dead air, then the squealing sound of a connected signal, and then a familiar voice flowing lightly into his ear.

“Ah, doggy. It’s been a while, but I’ve heard you’ve been doing well. It makes my heart leap to. . . “His doctor was cut off by someone yelling, followed by rushed whispers, “Oh fine then, I try to have a decent conversation with my dog and this is what it’s reduced to.” 

The doctor cleared his throat.

“Okay doggy, status?” the scientist inquired. 

“Status: Body in working order. Possible cracked or broken shins but healed shortly after the completion of the mission. Armed with two knives, a grenade, and a nine by eighteen millimeter Makarov pistol. Six rounds.” The soldier replied, voice neutral.

“Well Jesus Christ on a cracker, “the voice pitched up slightly, “I know you’re an assassin Doggy but traveling that light is certainly a mistake.” He trailed off, possibly in thought, before adding, “Though probably not your mistake. Hydra has fallen on some hard times apparently.”

There was a mocking edge in his tone, the soldier observed, before there was more whispers and eventual shouting.

“Ah, yes, good doggy, by the way, following protocol. Now, did you see who attacked you?”

“Negative, initiated evasive protocols immediately and sought out new directive.”

“Well damn. We need you to kill them regardless. So, I will provide com support and watch the action through your goggles. Provide a good show for me, will you?”

The soldier merely nodded. Muscles tensed and relaxed. He waited for just a few more seconds before diving out the window, opposite the door, and was promptly hit by another projectile. This one concussive and from what he saw before the blast, attached to an arrow. 

“Oh, concussive” The voice from his com giggled delightedly. “Get me a visual of them doggy!” 

Upon that request the soldier regained his composure quickly and headed toward the source of the arrows still raining down upon him. He had the man in sight within a few moments. He was about to close the gap with a burst of speed. The man was standing atop a building. Far from the initial site of the first arrow. His slight awe for the man’s ability was stifled, however, by a flash of metal popping out of an alley. He dodged just in time, dropping to his knees and skidding a few feet before rolling forward, tearing away his cover attire, and drawing his pistol. He unloaded all six shots in the direction of the sharp shooter. He heard a muffled curse and saw the man gripping his arm and quickly taking cover. 

Turning around, his attention was once again drawn toward the being with what he could now see was a metal arm. The man looked at the winter soldier before letting out a low whistle. 

His doctor makes a choked noise, and then a giddy laugh of delight. “That’s failure number 1 doggy!” He exclaims. The winter soldier isn’t really focusing on his doctor’s voice though.

“172 kills in 6 months. That’s going a bit overboard, don’tcha think? I mean, when I was in the business I didn’t even kill that much. Though I didn’t exactly get paid.” His head shook, long brown hair moving with it. “So I’m gonna’ give you the option of givin’ up right now. Make this easy for both of us and. . . .”

The soldier heard a light step behind him. Startled, he launched a blind kick behind him at lightning speed. His foot grazed the body behind him but he could tell he hadn’t inflicted any real damage. By the time his head turned around he could see a kick aimed for his head, blocking just in time. The red headed woman, however, didn’t seem too perturbed by this though, if her smirk was anything to go by. There was a light on inspiration as to why that was turned on and then was quickly snuffed out by a metal fist connecting with the side of his head. He flew a few feet. He thinks his skull might be cracked. He ignores this in favor of squaring up against his two attackers. 

“See,” The redhead says, walking towards the assassin, “our teamwork is fine. Birds of a feather.”

“I was just saying,” The brunette states plainly,” that maybe two people with our particular skillsets should work with different people who have different strengths.” He’s also striding towards him now.

The two speed up and he falls into a defensive stance, flicking out two knives and lunging. They danced around each other for a while. Both of them were skilled, the dog would give them that, but they didn’t seem to be as in tune with each other’s moves. Didn’t understand each other as thoroughly as they probably would have liked. The ends of his blades never found them though, so he figured ruminating upon such things was pretty much pointless. After what seemed like 15 minutes of what seemed like continual combat, he felt something lodge itself into his shoulder. That something was probably an arrow. He cursed inwardly. Making such amateur mistakes should have been passed him by this point. He should have made sure to kill the sharpshooter.

He tried to fight fully but by that point the man and woman had switched fronts. The failure had snagged the arm on his injured side like it was nothing. Breaking it in multiple places. He grunted slightly but moved with efficiency. Dropping his knife towards the woman and kicking it at her face. A trick Samuel had insisted he learned for some reason. She dodged, but was given a quick kick to the stomach for her trouble. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. 

Now, not being encumbered by fighting a two on one battle, he snaked his way out of the soldiers grasped. The nerves in his arm screamed in pain as he ignored their cries and bent it far past what it should have been able to take. Delivering a series of elbows and punches to his predecessor’s nose, it was now the failure that was on the defensive. Before he could launch another attack, he heard two distinct things. One, a whirring sound, which was another arrow that was dodged by merely a centimeter aimed at his leg. The second was his com. Samuel’s voice, mostly quiet up until now, was clear in his head.

“Disengage doggy. Protocol: jaunt. Alpha site. Immediately.” 

There was no hesitation or thought anymore. There was only him turning and running. Only his senses telling him when to dodge. His hearing telling him that he was leaving all but the failure behind him with great speed. It seemed as though even the other was struggling. Relief settled in his features for just one more second before he heard another whirring sound. His head moved a fraction of an inch to dodge the assumed arrow’s trajectory before he was knocked forward by something quite a bit larger. 

He fell hard into the dirt. Brow cut open by stone only to mend itself seconds later. He righted himself immediately, turned, and saw a shield headed for his face once again. He dodged, but was thrown into a wall a second later. Which was odd, because there was no one near him. So there he was, surrounded by two super soldiers and a girl whose hands were glowing red. Better yet, he really couldn’t move either. The red headed woman was with them immediately as well. The archer was still hidden, however. 

“So this is him?” Captain America asks.

“As far as I can tell. Took me, Natasha, and head on. He’s pretty skilled. Where is Sam and Vision?” The failure follows.

“Taking stock of the damage” Natasha interjects, “We’ll have to turn him over to the US government once we find a prison decent enough. You remember what he did to the last one that tried to contain him, right? He marched in, took down the compound, killed his target, and then just strolled out.” 

“Well, we have to sedate him first. Wanda, would you mind?” Steve looks towards the young woman then, eyes proud. 

“It’s no issue.” She states, factually. She is by his side in a moment, hands charging a dense amount of red energy in them. Tendrils making their way towards his temples. He hears Samuel swearing at people from the other side of his com link. Talking something about keeping track of the avengers and misconceptions about where the team was. It’s honestly the first time he’s ever heard his doctor with even a hint of anger in his voice.

“Okay, doggy, here’s what’s going to happen,” His voice is controlled and far tighter than usual,” activate protocol: blackout. No communication. No displays of emotion. Override echo-ice cream- kappa.”

Everything in the soldiers head seems to drain out of his ear. He can’t seem to make a coherent thought. Then the tendrils touch his temples and the girl’s eyes go wide. She jumps back. Like he’s something rancid. 

“We have an issue.” She begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, no more secret, super killer identity. But Tony ain't gonna break his protocol so easy. Rest Assured.


	5. Chapter 5

Realization and consciousness knit their way back into his brain far sooner than he would have liked. He keeps his eyes closed for a while. What he could recall was being pinned to a wall and after that, nothing. Taking stock of his body, nothing felt like it was broken or missing. Therefore, he concluded, it was more than likely that neither his doctor nor his handlers had managed to get their hands on him before he was captured by the enemy. 

From what he could tell, he was lying down. The surface he was resting on wasn’t uncomfortable. However, it was a long stretch from luxurious. He hadn’t expected much from his captors before his brain had been put on sleep mode, but the assassin found himself quite pleased by the turn of events. All he’d have to do now is find an opening and return. He flexed the muscles of his body slowly. There was no way to tell how long he was out for, but he had to be ready. Had to make sure his muscles weren’t bogged down by malaise. 

“You can stop pretending to sleep,” a gruff male voice bit out, “You aren’t fooling anyone in the room.” 

“Clint, cool it. This isn’t the time” A female voice orders. Her tone left no room for questions or rebuttals. 

“Fine.” The voice, Clint, concludes curtly. 

Slowly, the asset opened his eyes. Scanning the room as he turned them towards the source of the noise. Taking stock, he found himself in lit white room. Sterile was the first word that came to mind. Three white walls, with a white ceiling. A toilet and the bench for sleeping he was currently occupying was the only furniture in the room. When his eyes landed on three people opposite the glass, standing and staring at him from behind what looked like two inches of blast proof plexiglass. His face displayed no recognition of his captors. Everything about him was bland. 

“So,” the third voice begins, “I can’t be the only one thinking this is weird right.” 

“Nope” Clint replies. 

“Back on task boys.” The female voice sounds irritated. The assassin is sure that this is all just a show.

“So Stark, want to explain to us what you were doing running around with a member of the clean energy initiative’s brain matter on your boots?” The woman is clearer in her tone now. 

The asset doesn’t answer. Just rights himself to a sitting position on the bench and stares at the three. 

“Or, for that matter, what you’ve been doing for the last two years?” Clint supplies, “Pepper’s going to be pissed when she finds out you were kicking around some dust bowl for two years and didn’t drop her or Rhodes a line.” 

Still more silent stares.

“Well,” the woman begins again, “seeing as you aren’t very talkative, we’ll come back later. Food should be coming soon.”

The three leave. 

The assassin begins to create his plan.

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The trio walk in silence down the hallway towards the debrief room. Faces grim. When they reach the door, none of them bother to knock before entering. Around the dark table sat Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes leaving the trio and taking the seat by Steve’s right, and the rest of the avengers. Natasha and Clint then moved to their seats and began the debriefing. 

“He doesn’t seem to remember anything.” Natasha states. “He’s also been trained. Not just in combatives. You see that to, right?”

Her head tilts towards Clint and he picks up the conversation as seamlessly as Natasha has dropped it. 

“Yeah.” His voice sounds gruff, “He doesn’t have any tells. Not a single hair out of place when he woke up and saw us. I don’t know what that means, but I can guess he’s used to this type of treatment. Wanda, you said his mind was jumbled? What’s that about?”

The woman in scarlet nodded slightly, looking towards the mechanical man to her left, before clearing her throat. 

“Yes. When I sedated him, I took a peak. It was just a quick glimpse but everything in his head is turned upside down. Memories don’t match the echo of emotion he places with them. Everything is fragmented. It was like Mr. Barnes but different.”

“How so?” It’s Steve who pipes up this time. 

“Everything in Mr.Stark is. . . “She trails off, thinking of the best way to put it, “warped? With Mr. Barnes everything was surface level. Between myself and the B.A.R.F. that Doctor Banner helped finish it was enough to fill the cracks on the surface and let them heal. With Tony, there’s depth in the trauma. The surface level is cracked, but those cracks spiral deeper and fragment. It’s complicated to explain.” 

She looks apologetic but Steve gives her a reassuring glance. Vision places his hand on her shoulder and squeezes gently. 

“So,” Natasha starts, “the first order of business should be convincing the UN to allow us to keep Tony here. He’s a high enough security risk to justify that so I’m sure T’challa can pull some strings. After that we focus on putting the jigsaw puzzle that is Tony’s brain back together to get some answers. Are we all agreed?”

She asks the last part though everyone in the room knows that in the end it’s more of a statement. Natasha then turns to Steve. Eying both him and Bucky before continuing.

“Also, Steve and Barnes, I need to talk to the both of you. Sooner rather than later.” 

Steve nods curtly before officially ending the debriefing. Listing some rules and laying out who is officially allowed to see Tony at the moment and who is not. The list is short: Himself, Bucky, Natasha, and Clint. The other avengers are either absent, working, or taking care of their personal lives. But even if they were here, Steve felt as though they were the ones who were probably the most capable in dealing with this dilemma. 

As the rest of the team shuffle out, it’s only Steve, Bucky, and Natasha left. 

She begins to speak. 

Their complexions drop to pale. 

Stomachs heavy as a bomb and skin paler than bodies after the fallout. 

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When he sleeps, he dreams of blood and electrical currents and scalpels. Of a laugh, a giggle, and a violence that blooms deeply within himself, as if it came out of nowhere, only to have it disappear without a trace moments later. He’s dreamed about missions before. He remembers each one. But there were times when he remembers something different than what should be. Remembers lying on a cold, hard floor. Remembers crisp air and something crushing his chest. There’s hardly a moment to recognize the shadowy figure looming over him before he wakes up. The same dream ends at the same point time and time again and this time, when his eyes flicker open, what does he see?

He sees a man. Blond hair and blue eyes. Peering at him sadly. The woman and man from before flanking him. They would look intimidating if the asset hadn’t already killed over 100 people. Felt the life flow out of over 100 bodies. Maybe he’d feel threatened if he hadn’t seen that same dark red blossom out from the chests and heads of over 100 victims. No, targets. They were always targets.

The assassin took the same position as he had the first time he was forced into something of a social interaction. Face staying carefully neutral. Brown eyes gazing into blue ones. There was no recognition in his face.

“My name is Steve Rogers.” The voice starts out shakily but strengthens on the next uptick, “Do you know who or where you are?”

The asset stares back impassively. He understands protocol. He isn’t technically supposed to communicate with anyone while detained by the enemy, but in this instance the fault for a lack of communication is more in the question itself. He’s no one. That was beaten into him early. Something understood. There would be nothing gained from giving him an actual name, therefore, he wasn’t gifted with one. There wasn’t even an official title for him, as far as he knew. Old dregs of past Hydra sects and higher ups used the Winter Soldier moniker, but his doctor had made it clear that he wasn’t a failure, and therefore that name was unnecessary. Regardless of what you call a knife, the doctor had reasoned to him, as long as it cuts there’s no real point in recognizing a word for it. 

As such, the silence dragged on. The two men staring at each other for minutes before the blond inhaled and gave a sigh. The woman whispered something into his ear. He seemed to reflect on the information given before turning to the brunette male. It seemed that the gaze was significant. His brunette counterpart gave a put upon sigh, as he and the redhead approached the glass. He couldn’t quite tell what they were saying. Suddenly though, he saw her look to a camera, her jaw moving with speech. He heard a com unit activate and her cool voice penetrated the cell. 

“We understand that this may be hard for you.” Her voice was clear and authoritative, “so we thought that maybe we should reacquaint you with . . . yourself.”

Suddenly the room went dim and any noise from the outside was muted. From there, the glass seemed to illuminate and displayed pictures, video reels, sound bites. All of which seemed to be of him.

His breath came heavily. A distinct pounding could be felt in his head as his ears rang. Something felt wrong. With guts twisting and bile rose in his throat. He knew he had only one option: Follow the protocol. He was instructed on what to do if he ever felt this way. Was ever introduced to false material and propaganda. The two in front of the glass watched intently. Eyes intense. Studying his every move. He understood there was no time for weakness or hesitation. 

He out held his hands. This new trio looked interested in the reaction. Interest seemed to turn into panic, however, when he quickly then turned them into fists, then into two thumbs up, of which he then proceeded to jab into his eyes, fingertips hitting the back of the sockets.

Pain level acceptable and expected, his brain supplied helpfully, next to nullify audiological manipulation. 

The last thing he heard before his index fingers crowded their way into his inner ear and pieced his eardrums was a “open the goddamn door,” he supposed it was the blond who had given this order. However, he knew he was safe now. Pain washed over him. Grounded him. A body’s waves of panic as soothing as those of the ocean. His mind drifted once again and for the first time since his detainment, his face worse emotion plain as day, a self-satisfied smile wore like a badge of honor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahahahaha this was put off longer than it should have but. . . .it's here and I don't intend on falling into the same mistake again. Also, I know there isn't much angst yet, but I'm more of a dialogue person and we just haven't gotten there yet. Plus the Avengers are a tactical response team so spilling feelings all over the place is a little . . . yeah.


	6. Chapter 6

Steve Rogers was a man who, even at a young age, had seen many things. There were the good times, but more and more it felt like the shadows were starting to engulf the light. Seeing his friend, his ex-friend at the moment he supposed, gouge out his own eyes and bury his fingers deep into his eardrums was just another event that proved that. Natasha had told them that he had been experimented on. That his blood was more similar to his and Bucky’s than it was to his old self’s. Even pulled it up on the conference room’s projectors. Steve and Bucky didn’t really understand it, but they tried to at least. It appeared as if he had a new personality to match. 

Steve had felt remorse when Tony had gone missing. The frantic phone calls from the UN to T’challa had not gone unnoticed by the team. After three months Iron Man had been labeled killed in action and the UN, seeing no other way to keep themselves defended from future alien attacks or any of the villain of the week types that kept popping up gave the former avengers a pardon for their defiance. They still ran under guidelines, but overall they were free to do as they please. It was harder convincing the UN to accept a rehabilitated Bucky Barnes into the mix, but T’challa was a king, and a genius. It wasn’t long before they were able to function as a team and had a base of their own in the US. It took longer for Steve to realize that the Bucky he had known for so long was gone. That he had been put through the blender and added to the amalgamation of personality traits and assassin training. The Winter Soldier was Bucky Barnes, and vice versa. It was hard, but they eventually worked through it. Sometimes with fists, sometimes with words, and sometimes with the caress of lips in the dark of the night. 

Attending Stark’s funeral, on the other hand, had been an impossible task. It was a grand affair, from what Steve had heard. But Pepper Potts and Rhodey were a formidable team. Every avenger besides Thor and Bruce had been blacklisted. He wasn’t sure how, but they even found Natasha, who had snuck in with the ease of which she had been accustomed only to be escorted out five minutes later. He wasn’t going to say that what he did was wrong. Nor would he say that Tony was wrong in his position. All he could say was that they both made mistakes. Mistakes that weren’t worth it in the end. He could only ever wonder at why his mistakes always seemed to cost others so much.

But now, standing in front of the man he used to call friend, he wasn’t sure what to feel. His stomach was twisting with the vision of blood stains, self-induced, and a content smile. Steve would find out who had gotten their hands on Tony Stark. That was for sure. Even if they couldn’t find a way to at least stabilize his mentality, he figured the least he could do, would ever be able to do really, was avenge the man that had once been made of iron. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When the asset awoke, he could see. Could hear again to for what it was worth. The room itself was pretty barren of any noise. He didn’t breathe loudly either. He gave the idea of complete silence and his situation a thought, then let out what could only be described as a giggle before quickly clasping his hands over his mouth and settling into a more neutral expression.  
This was definitely not good. Thoughts and ideas were beginning to roll around his head. There wasn’t the definitive single mindedness of a tool. Rather, a collection of jumbled feelings and emotions. It always happened when he was far away from Samuel. Far away from the words he needed to hear in order to correct his thinking. 

So, in lieu of mental duress, he decided to stretch his legs. Sure that the camera pointed in his cell would capture any motion, but he figured if he was already captured, there was no real reason to worry about them seeing him do a push up. He also noted that this train of thought in itself was problematic and uncharacteristic of him. But as he sat up and felt his bare feet hit the pale, cool tile of the room, he decided it was worth it. Even with a knack for regeneration, stiff muscles were an unfortunate side effect of the blackout procedure and for some reason, always seemed more prevalent after he healed. 

So he padded his way over to the toilet in the corner of the room, did his business, washed his hands, and began to pace the expanse. When he neared the glass that separated him from supposed freedom, when he strayed too far from the programming he often wondered if anything like freedom actually existed, he held out his hand, fingers pointed toward the glass. Those fingers then curled in on themselves. The newly formed fist slamming into the glass with enough force to split his knuckles. Blood ran down the glass. Other than that, the asset observed, there was no change.

Strong glass, his brain provided.  
No shit, it followed itself later.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In the monitoring room a guard stares at the monitor of prisoner number three. 

He notices he’s still touching the glass.

He hits a switch. 

Enough electricity to incapacitate an elephant courses through the glass. 

The prisoner flies backward. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

His world was fine one moment. Monitoring the glass for any structural weaknesses. Samuel had always praised him for being able to do that. Said it was key to understanding how to take someone apart. But had digressed shortly into his speech as usual.

The next moment, he was on the ground and his world seemed to be reeling. His breath came in staggered beats. His heart felt like it wanted to escape the captivity of his chest. There was a reason for this fear. He couldn’t quite put him finger on it, but he knew it was there. Something tight, coiled inside. Ready to spring open with just a bit more prodding. Before he could get a solid grasp on this idea, a voice broke through passed the dark of the glass.

“It’s probably for the best you don’t touch the glass.” The voice rang out. From the direction it emanated from stepped out the long haired brunette. His dress was far more casual than it had been. Then again, the asset was dressed in what could pass for pure white pajamas, so he actually was far less dressed up than the man behind the glass. “You’ve probably guessed but it’s electrified….sometimes.” 

The assassin glimpsed at the other, but didn’t respond.

“Silent treatment, huh? That’s okay. I uh. . . “The man faltered here, voice small as the second part of his sentence wilted slightly. “ I’m sorry. For everything. I know it wasn’t my fault, not really, but I wonder sometimes if . . . if I had talked Steve into giving me up if any of this would have happened. So, I’m sorry.”

The asset stared again, but his eyes betrayed him. This was the first time anyone had talked to him like this. With some semblance of humanity instead of cold calculation. One of the only times he felt warmth in the tone of a person’s voice. Well, true warmth. Samuel faked it. Even the asset could see that. His voice came out gravely. Disuse grating upon it, but it was there none the less. No matter how small.

“I, don’t know what you’re talking about.”

It was said quietly. But it was said. He knew he’d be reprimanded harshly when his handlers came to collect him. They would inevitably. 

The brunette seemed shocked, then pensive. 

“Oh” he replied simply, before turning and walking out of the room. Leaving the asset alone again. Well, not necessarily alone, if the delayed electrocution was anything to go by. He gained a useful piece of information. He was content. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The asset wasn’t sure how long he had been in the cell. Long enough, he figured, for his brain to start playing tricks on him. It had been at least three weeks since his initial capture. He was sure of that. But for some reason he kept having these weird feelings. Especially when one of his enemy’s visited his cell. 

Normally, the red headed woman would enter. Her stare as calculating as ever, and would ask him questions he either wouldn’t answer or didn’t know the answers to. She had given up early on. Stopped coming at him from different angles with different words and different personalities. As soon as he had made it clear in his silence that her tricks wouldn’t be accepted. 

It was strange though. Each day he was more and more sure that he knew her from somewhere. This recognition inspired not only a weird sense of nostalgia, but also a something he could easily describe as terror. For that matter, the fact he was feeling anything at all was rather odd. New words and phrases seemed to perforate into his being at an alarming rate. Never knowing what he was remembering or making up or forgetting. In a word, he was lost. He just wasn’t sure what the true implications of these new experiences were, and therefore they were definitely a threat. 

On top of that, he felt similarly towards the red haired woman’s blond counterpart. The muscular man with a face that seemed aggravated and hurt at the same time. The asset could tell it slightly annoyed the red haired woman. How easily her partner gave away his emotions. How even if he could keep his face steely and impassible his body language, although minutely, always seemed to speak for itself. 

Most interestingly of all, was the dark haired male who had apologized to him a while earlier. One, because he was a tool and as such required no such apology. Two, because all in all he truly didn’t remember what the other man was talking about. Though this wasn’t necessarily unusual, he found that most of the time after a mission he woke up after his physical with chunks of memory missing and his skull feeling like it would fracture. Bur what was unusual was the illicit despair he felt when trying to remember. Pangs of sadness radiated through him. No reason as to why. Just the feeling of drowning and a hopelessness as deep as the ocean. Again, why was he always feeling lost?

This time, however, it was the blond. Alone. Talking in a slow voice. The asset wasn’t really paying any attention until he heard something different from the ordinary speal.  
“. . . and that is why, well, we’re gonna’ see if Wanda can do anything T-“He stuttered on the hard syllable and continued forward, “anything about your mind. We don’t know what happened but . . . we’re starting to get an idea. Shit.” 

The blond swore to himself as the phone in his pocket suddenly sprang to life. Lighted screens flashing something red that sent him jogging to the doorway. Though before he left, he turned. Piercing eyes staring at the asset. 

“For what it’s worth,” Steve’s voice was low in his chest, “I’m sorry about leaving you there. So fucking sorry. But I can’t be sorry about trying to help Bucky. Not anymore. Even if I wanted to be I don’t have that right anymore.” 

With that he was gone, leaving the assassin more confused than anything. Being apologized to was not the norm for him. Samuel had stabbed him in the eye with a needle once to test his regeneration, citing if the product was defective he’d have to do away with it anyway, without even a flicker of remorse. All he was aware of was the more apologies he received the worse he felt. Dread settled deeper into his stomach each time. He wasn’t sure if finding out would help him. But overall, he figured, he’d been hurt enough already. So what was one more bullet in the chamber? Perhaps it was time. Time to start talking. At least a little bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work has been redonkulous lately so I'll get things posted whenever I can.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A witch, a soldier, an assassin. An even longer road afterward.

For the first time in a while he had a dream. A king walking on broken toes. That's what he was. Gazing at regal halls and around dimly lit corners long since bereft of shadows. He recognized himself as something broken. Recognized the kingdom as something shattered. Weeping as he fell upon his own sword.  
-  
His consciousness breached the surface then. Eyelids rolling open languidly. There was still him and his cell. But now, there was something else. Something not external, but internal building up inside of him. Whether it was fear or excitement the asset didn't know. There was the recognition within his own mind, however, that did pinpoint something strange was happening within him. His body felt looser. Light and airy. This wasn't the looseness of being beaten or torn into for hours on end. This was nice. The word itself so foreign in his mind-space and yet there it was. Nice. Nothing to cut or rend or be cut or rend by. He hadn't recognized before how nice breathing felt. How wonderful having lungs full of air expand and contract could be. So wonderful, in fact, for once he didn't think that it would end. Something eternal. Something nice.  
-  
Outside of the containment unit stands Wanda Maximoff and Steve Rogers. Hidden by a holo-display. Her hands are glowing bright red, a shade that matches Tony's temples, and that may be the only color shown in Captain America's face. They've been there for hours. Him with a face set grim and firm. Though his eyes are ones of hope. dancing from her to Tony and back and forth. Steve shoots a sad and inquisitive look at her before clearing his throat. The words that come out after start softly. Somewhat weakly. Like most things in Steve Rogers life the beginning is never quite as strong as the ending. 

"Is he" His voice whispers. 

The witch doesn't respond. She seems wrapped up in whatever power she is tapping into. Pupils blown wide open and eyes gazing at a landscape invisible to those lesser folk with lesser vision. He thinks of repeating himself before she cuts in. Words also soft. The reason being nothing if not pure distraction. 

"You know, after we got lucky, when the smoke cleared, I was wondering what happened to him." Her voice is detached. Fingers lingering in some places and spasming in others. "Though in the end I don't think I should have. This isn't too much pain to sort through, but it is a. . . substantial amount." 

Suddenly her eyes close, she seems pained, before they open again and she regains a neutral expression. Her whispering continues.

"I was somewhat angry at you Steve. When you told us everything. Not that we had much information to begin with. There was so much chaos during and after our spat." 

Her hands come together, fingers interweave and expel a luminescence otherworldly as she continues putting the cracked pieces of Tony's mind together. Continues to weave and build over and cover up. 

"But" She continues, "everyone makes mistakes. There is no one anywhere that does not. I've learned that and I've learned also that you cannot run from your responsibilities. Cannot avoid the collision once the wheels of your actions are set in motion." 

Her pupils flair, ignite an angry red, though none of that is reflected in her face. 

"So if any part of Tony comes back from this dead husk, any part is risen anew, you must nurture it." 

With this statement she stares directly at him, the only thing in the darkness emitting light. The only thing creating some visage of a life raft amidst the abyss and himself.

"For what I am doing is only a small fix. Only a fragment of what must be done. The dam I'm making will break and the only thing that will decide whether or not Tony will be saved from the torrent of his memories or engulfed by them will be you."

The blond's lips thin. Eyes erratic, he goes to speak but no sound comes out. No air exits his lungs. Her words seem like rungs on a ladder that leads to some sort of redemption. Something he didn't think his soul would be capable of having after sending his friend to the guillotine. Nicely wrapped for someone or something to toy with. 

Her next words ring clear as the pulsating energy in her grasp flares wildly and then dissipates. Her pupils dim and she exhales in relief. Darkness swallows them both. The dim lighting of their old friend's cell not permeating the barrier. Steve is deathly still as she imparts her final message to him, ringing true in the void.

"After all," her tone is a conglomeration of playful and mournful and joyful all at once.

"He is the product of all of our sins, is he not?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Tumblr is muchomumbles.tumblr.com if you want to check out my barren af blog.

Tony Stark awakens in a room bereft of windows, but still warm an inviting. This would be nice, if he had any idea as to where he was. In the end though, his panic sends a wave of shock coursing throughout his system. Bolting upright, he takes in the small room with its dimly lit lamp and ornamental rug before bowling over and spilling the contents of his stomach onto said rugs. He looked down in wonder, taking in how pitiably small the portion in his stomach was before laying back onto the bed.

“How is this my life?” He mumbles sleepily, his eyes are still bleary and trying to open fully.

“Not sure boss.” Replies a chipper female voice. 

Tony almost falls off the bed in terror before cracking a slight smile. Anywhere F.R.I.D.A.Y was, there could only be safety. 

*

Steven Rogers had experienced terrors beyond most people’s imaginations. Freezing to death, Nazis, Dubstep. But to say that he was not expecting the fury coming from Pepper Potts at the moment was an understatement. The woman was practically blazing.

“You mean to tell me,” her voice had venom and an edge as sharp as any blade, “That you found Tony weeks ago. Weeks Steven?” Her voice rose with every word.

“Pepper, it’s not that we didn’t want to tell you it’s just that. . . he had changed. Done some terrible things Pepper. Anything that reminded him of his old life set him off. We had to make sure he was at least somewhat back to normal beforehand. Even now we have people guarding him.”

His weak reply didn’t seem to placate her in the least. She spits the next words out almost as fast as he had finished.

“Fix him?” She seemed off-put by his words.  
The storm in her eyes changed from raging to calm in a matter of seconds. Her experience in the board room was evident. One does not take up the mantle of CEO of one of the most profitable companies in the history of the planet and not learn how to make themselves dangerous. At least that’s what Steve had assumed. 

The next words were spoken very clearly. Words clear and concise. 

“You, Steven Rogers Grant, will be giving me a very detailed report on the situation. Actually, scratch that. You will get Natasha to give me a very detailed report of the situation. Everything, and I mean everything, will be put on the table. Then Rhodey and I will decide what the best course of action for Tony will be.”

At the mention of Rhodey’s name Steve pales. Pepper notices, and then also pales slightly.

“Wait. You told him right?”

Steve stays quiet from a fraction of a moment. 

“I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. You’ll get your report Miss Potts, but there are some things you should know now.” 

She nods slightly. He clears his throat and begins.

Her anger is far from sated when he concludes. But while she has been fire, she’s also no stranger to the ice. From what she’s heard, this is no time to lose her head. Regardless of whether or not she wants to. 

*

Oddly enough, when Tony looks in the mirror of the en suite, his brain supplies that he doesn’t look that bad, considering. Considering, from what his ai had just told him, he was kidnapped, tortured, and then used as some sort of hitter. It was always a wonder to him how grave events tended to turn out when you mixed super powers and egos. The two just didn’t seem to blend correctly. He swishes cold water around his mouth before spitting it into the white ceramic basin of the sink. The place he was staying, or more so being held captive, was swanky. It was nice to see that the “Avengers” had stepped up their game in the furniture department. He chuckled to himself at that before his throat cleared and his voice rang out in the silence of the bathroom. 

“So, Friday, I need a report.” His voice was even, impersonal, and the AI noticed.

“Well, boss, there isn’t enough time to supply the whole of the situation, but besides the basics that you’ve been informed of, ie: a general history of your past indiscretions, I’ve looped the security feeds for the rooms and the halls of your escape route. Also, I’ve taken the liberty of preparing a transport. You’ll know it when you see it.” Her robotic voice was clerical. A match to her creators.

He smirked, another question dancing behind his eyes. Eyes that grew surprised when the ai answered before he could pose said question. 

“If you’re wondering how I managed to breach the security system,” Tony could swear he could hear cockiness in her voice, “remember the bullseye protocol? If you went missing, I was to go into hiding, integrate with different systems and then use my vast information web to find you. Well, this is partially a result of that. I may or may not have slipped in during the first few attempts at the setup of this particular system. Also, I may or may not have been the one to create the firewall and security protocols this system was based upon through a few aliases and holographic skype interviews.”

“The Avengers didn’t bother double checking?” He asks.

“They tried. But you’d be surprised how long a meeting can be pushed back when there are multiple villains per week, per hero, popping up around the world. For instance, Spiderman fought a gigantic bat yesterday.” 

Tony smirks. He’s happy to hear the kids name. Or as close to his name as he could get at this point. Glad to know he made it into the big leagues.

“Darling,” Tony’s voice singsongs, “How is our beloved captain doing? Playing shuffleboard with Benedict Arnold and Caesar’s crew I bet.”

The ai stills for a second before answering the query.

“Captain Rogers is currently with Miss Pepper Potts in Stark Industries main office. I cannot tell as to what they are saying because of the”

“We Need Space” Protocol.” Tony cuts in. “I understand. You still aren’t allowed to interfere or eavesdrop on her by the way. It’s not like we don’t already know what they’re probably discussing.”

“If I recall sir,” she responds, “the protocol was enacted so you wouldn’t, and I quote Miss Potts, “Dote over her every time she stubs a toe.” I believe she was also citing hair loss due to your overprotectiveness.”

“My God,” Tony sways dramatically, “my child is so sassy. How did this happen?”

“Well, you collude with a few websites and they open your eyes.” She responds, robotic speaker attempting to match the intonation. 

He rubs a hand through his hair, eyes cast downward, before leveling them forward again. 

“Friday, my dear, I do believe it’s time to get down to business. But I definitely owe you one hell of an upgrade when I get to. . . where are we going?”

“A safe house I procured,” She intones, “and I prefer a chilled white wine. Gewurztraminer.”

He smirks even wider.

The door opens with a mechanical creak and smooth slide. 

“Before you go though, are you sure you do not wish to allow the Avengers to assist?”

He could tell his ai was being cautious. From what she had said, he used to react violently to any mention of his past life. But, he figured, that was before Wanda. Now he just gets a splitting headache whenever he tries to think about what he’s been through. He clears his throat and gives his answer.

“Nah. They chased me around for a few, how long? Years? They can do it for a little longer.”

*

A security guard stares at the monitors. The monitors are pointed at various hallways. What she doesn’t notice, however, is that the images are looping. What she doesn’t know, is that Tony Stark has started to make his escape.

Someone else, however, does.

*

Tony hears it before he recognizes it. He recognizes it before he catches it. What he didn’t know, however, was that that arrow now in his left hand was concussive. Well, he didn’t know until it flared and exploded. Stars swam around the inside of his eyelids while he dove into a corner with some cover, his shoulder slamming into the wall before he twisted around the surface, finding some sanctuary. The man was sure things couldn’t get any worse. Then, of course, Barton actually spoke.

“Tony?” He called. “You still with me buddy?” 

Even without the snarky tone, it wouldn’t have taken very much for the engineer to recognize his ex-archer bestie was being less than sincere. 

“Birdbrain!” Tony counters, “How delightful. Anyone else from our little crew around? How’s Wilson?”

His vision is returning when he hears the Archer scoff. 

“Nah,” the archer responds, “Just you and me.”

The old Tony might have believed him. But the sound of two different sets of feet walking slowly down the hallway diminishes his faith in his ex- friends. 

“Then,” Tony quips, “you either grew another pair of legs or you’re lying to me here. Baby, I’m hurt.” He smirks a bit. The quips were always his favorite part.

“C’mon Stark.” Barton’s voice drops the niceties, “I’m not looking to hurt you, hence the warning shot, but you’ve got to know I can’t let you just walk out. There are things you need to know, man.” 

Before he continues, Tony interjects.

“Like me being a human lab rat? Right. I got the memo. And I know approximately what I’m capable of.”

“ugh, Fine.” The archer sounds a bit dejected before clearing his throat and lowering his voice, apparently not aware of the full extent of Tony’s enhancements. “Wanda, care to help me out here.”

At that Tony simply stands up and faces his pursuers. With Wanda at his side, there’s no way he would be able to overpower Barton, even if his body remembered his training, it was always magic over might any day of the week. 

Facing her, he couldn’t help but marvel at her beauty. She had grown. She was far less trusting, if the neutral and detached expression in her eyes said anything. Tony was proud yet again.

“Howdy.” Tony says.

Wanda smiles a little and waves. He returns the smile, eyes fond for a split second. This felt familiar. Comfy. Sure, Clint was pointing something he could clearly tell was a tranquilizer on a stick at him, but this was fine. A small moment like this and then back to the drawing board. He wasn’t excited about it, but he figured he may have to face his old teammates after all. Clint’s face looks pained before he drawls out a sentence.

“If it’s any consolation, I’m sorry.”

With that, his fingers release the string of the bow. Tony flinches and waits. . . and waits. . . and waits, until his eyes open and he sees the arrow hovering mid destination. He also sees Barton, unconscious and apparently sleeping soundly against a wall, and of course he also sees Wanda, a playful smile painted her face. There’s something both beautiful and distinctly off about her, some history he isn’t yet privy to, but it’s there. He has very little time to ponder her actions before she speaks up. Her voice was full of emotion. Like she was when he last met her. She was full of potential and regrets, and more-so lacking agency. Always cooped up in a tower full of things to distract her from the pain she had helped perpetrate. To keep her mind off the people outside the walls, those who would sooner see her with a bullet in her skull than use her powers again. He fazes back from the memory abruptly when he realizes she’s speaking. 

“One for Steven,” her voice almost purrs out, “all those years ago. Now one for you as well, Tony Stark.” She winks at him before taking Barton up upon her shoulders, hoisting him as if he was weightless.

Light as a feather, stiff as a board, eh? Tony quips to himself.

Before she rounds the corner of the hall, she speaks, not turning back towards him. 

“Keep in touch,” her soft voice orders plainly, “what I did was only a slight fix. If you ever need me,” She laughs girlishly, light and airy. 

“Feel your way.”

With that she rounds the corner and he continues his jaunt towards the exit. Pauses for a second when he sees light and open doors with hydraulic locks. Then, he bolts through them and sets his sights upon one of his suits. Already, there are more people rushing at him. They were all recognizing all too late that a recent addition to the guest list had the intention of fleeing the coop. His suit fits him like a glove. It feels so familiar that his heart leaps into the stratosphere when the interface comes on and he rockets upward, away from those who could help him and into a murky future. He hurtles towards a safe house. He feels like he has an identity again. Even if he can’t remember who he is, there’s still a role for him to play. That’s all he’s ever needed, after all.

*

In a room with lace hanging from the ceiling and smoke, freed from its container of incense and candles, curling up towards the heavens, Wanda Maximoff sits at her side table. Eyes glanced out of her window. They land upon a faint fire burning through the air. Barton snores on her futon. She smiles sadly. Tony Stark has made his choice, made his escape, and made his destiny. She doesn’t yet know how things will play out, but she has her eyes set on two possibilities. One terrible and one decent. She knows there is no shining beacon of happiness waiting for anyone, in this universe at least. But, she feels there’s a chance at an ending with substance. She sighs then, and heads to exit her abode. Barton is still snoring on the couch and she had promised Kamala that she would indulge Peter Parker with her and begin a game of Dungeons and Dragons. As her door closed, her laughter rose again from her chest. She liked this. It seemed like she was laughing quite a bit nowadays. She let it flow as easily as breathing. 

For she knew the times ahead would be difficult for all involved. Wanda would take laughter whenever she could.


	9. Chapter 9

Tony has been flying for three hours when he sees it. The holo-display of his suit lighting up a brilliant red before two small circles worked their way into creation before him, outlining his new base of operations. He lands softly before the dilapidated shack, the last remnants of a ghost town two miles north. Red and gold stand out amongst a sea of corn, swaying gently in the wind. Iron Man approaches the barren building in front of him. He eyes the loose boards and rotting steps wearily. If Tony didn’t know any better, then he would have sworn that amidst the midday sun the entire structure would go up in flames, torched by the advanced age and unforgiving nature of solar energy. Suit gauntlets come up and fidget with the helmet. His fingers are seemingly untrained in regards to disrobing the suit. The realization sends a spark of sadness through him and it’s almost as potent as the dull ache in the back of his head.

Tony wasn’t particularly interested in drudging up the memories of his less than savory three years prior, at least not so soon. But, as it has always been, once he became aware of something and took interest in it, the natural machinations of his mind simply couldn’t stop trying to pick it apart. This had been the case since childhood. His mind never rested. Never stopped destroying. Though arguably, he reasoned, he never stopped building either. As long as he did more of the latter than the former, he was sure he’d be okay with himself. But now the balance he had built was broken. Taken from him and shredded by hands only interested in productivity and jobs signed off on in blood. His head still pounded and his brain was still trying to put together the pieces. 

“Boss,” Friday’s voice chirped in his ear, “Abra, Kadabra. . . “

“Alakazam.” Tony Finishes in a whisper before he sees the image in front of him shift. The shack itself blurs out of existence and is replaced by a house that is much larger and in far better condition. It’s white and unassuming and looks cozy. He’s already much happier than he had been on the way over. 

“You know, you don’t get paid enough.” Tony gets out, voice strained with emotion.

“Aw, shucks boss. Just thought you should have a good place to rest for a while. “

“Security measures?” 

“Well,” Friday does its best to not seem overly proud, “it cannot be traced through thermal imaging, it can be disguised to your whim, and of course it can survive a blast from an anti-tank rifle. “ 

He smirks. He realizes then that he’s just been standing outside. Striding forward, he entered the house quickly. A little time on his own paramount in his mind.

 

\------

To say that Tony Stark, the resident genius of geniuses of any residence he visited, was surprised to see a tall, dark, and brooding figure in the form of one ex winter soldier in the small living quarters would be an understatement. His stomach lurched as his parent’s killer sat in a chair. At his kitchen table. Eating an apple. Tony would have laughed at the absurdity of the situation had it not been for his past experience of having said ex-assassin attempt to beat the Christ out of him on many previous engagements. Instead, he settled for freezing in place and mumbling out a series of unintelligible words. Bucky Barnes’ head moved slowly toward the source of the jumble. Tony was sure the other man had heard him enter. The only reason he could think of for the other’s slow movements was that he was treating him like somewhat of a frightened animal. For that, Tony felt somewhat offended but also thankful. He still had pangs of instinct vibrating through his brain. A soft whisper of “kill” floating through his brain. Tony shuddered to think of what would happen if the man had made any sudden movements. The engineer once again clocks in his mind one of the reasons that ptsd was a bitch.

“Um, hey.” Barnes verbalizes slowly, calmly. “Just so you know, I’ve passed all of my psyche evaluations and Friday let me in.” 

Barnes’ face makes a blank expression, both hands floating forward, making an “eh?” gesture. Seemingly trying to settle tension. Possibly trying to prove his point. Either way, Tony’s brain is still out for the moment and he’s trying desperately to piece together any type of action to take. Barnes, to his credit, seems to take the hint.

“I’m not gonna’ leave the building, but I will leave the room and let you and Friday. . . Discuss things. Like why I’m here. . . Me things.” Barnes blurts out awkwardly before turning and moving down the hall. He opens a door a little way down. As far as Tony can tell, he’ll probably be able to still hear whatever he and his AI have to say but as far as things go, this was probably as good as they were going to get at the moment.   
“Okay, Fri, details. Gimme’ the deets right now!” His voice isn’t angry, but panicked and low. Rushed and tinged with a slight hint of fear. 

“Well,” The AI began, “Sargent” 

“Ex-Sargent” Bucky yells from the enclosed space he had entered. 

“Ex-Sargent” The AI corrected, “Barnes has a similar history of abuse and trauma. So, while we were out, I figured hey, why not collect someone with a similar psyche profile. You know. It’s kind of like with dogs. You need to have two or one will get lonely.” 

Tony’s “thanks” is echoed milliseconds later by an equally gruff “thanks” from what he now assumes is Barnes’ room. His eyes turn cold and skeptical as his gaze rakes down the hall and stops at Barnes’ door. 

“So, you figured I was somewhat like a, what, a labradoodle and needed a friend?” He questions, slightly incredulous. 

“No, I figured that with your history of PTSD and the ramifications of the last three years, you might want someone who can stop you if you fly off of the rails. Also, someone who won’t be checking in with the Avengers.” The AI’s voice seemed a little irritated, Tony noted. “Also, might I point out that Mr. Barnes is taking this upon himself of his own volition. Regardless of his relationship with Mr. Rogers.”

Tony huffs a laugh, thinking of the kids show host instead of the hulking mass of muscle that was Captain America. 

“So?” Tony asks plainly. “They’re friends, I get it. But honestly I’m sure I’d be better off on my own.”

The discussion is slightly derailed when a door opens up moments later and a hand, made of flesh, pops out through the entryway. It takes Tony a moment to see the wedding ring. It also takes Tony a moment to say “Congratulations, who’s the lucky girl?” It then takes him a longer series of moments to realize what this implies and how it fits into the conversation prior. 

His mind blanks again and the only words his mouth seems to be able to form are “need a drink.” Before he goes searching through the cabinets. From the room, Bucky’s voice adds a “won’t help. We can’t get drunk anymore.” His voice is clearer now that it’s uninhibited by the wood of the door. With that Tony simply spins, pressing his back to and sliding down the cabinet. 

“This is going to be goddamn torture.” Tony states.

“Well,” the now present Bucky Barnes adds, “You’ve survived worse. Right?”

\-----

The only sanctuary that Tony had managed to find in his short time in his new abode was the workshop. A fully functioning, if not tiny, outpost of engineering brilliance. His very own shrine steeped in grease, sparks, and propulsion technology that could rip a limb off if he wasn’t careful. All in his garage no less. Though, judging from the reports of his current condition he had stolen from the Avenger’s mainframe, that in and of itself may not even be that big of a deal. Considering his regenerative abilities, it may even be refreshing in a comedic way. No, there was only one problem. That being the long-haired brunette who had seemed to relegate himself to the corner of the room. As far as Tony could tell, he had no interest in starting conversation. The only thing he really seemed interested in doing was staring. Observing. That alone put the engineer on edge. 

“Are you trying to get me to calm down in your presence or something? Like an animal?” Tony asks. 

“Well, that and gauging whether or not you’ll try to separate my head from my shoulders like last time.” Bucky replies. 

“Well, if that’s the case, I recognize you had no part in their deaths. If there’s one thing being tortured and used for an indeterminable amount of time teaches you it’s how to look at life from the other side.” 

“Well, that’s more than enough for me then.” Bucky says nonchalantly. 

Of course, instead of heading back to his room to close the door, Barnes takes this as a cue to pull up a stool next to the table Tony is working on. Sparks fly as he solders two pieces of metal together. Bucky looks at him in interest. Tony squirms under his gaze.

“So, married?” Tony asks.

“Yup.” Bucky replies, popping the P. 

“To Rogers?” 

“Yep.” This response is curter. A touchy subject, Tony can tell, but not one totally off limits. 

“And the catholic guilt?”

“Oh, god, it was a nightmare.” Bucky’s hand covers his face and for the first time Tony notices the lack of his other limb. Notes that maybe it’s a way to get him to calm down around the other man. A lack of kung-fu action grip to show some kind of solidarity to the effort. 

“No kidding?” 

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you everything. There was so much on-again off-again shit. I swear the man took ten years off of my life.” Bucky chuckled slightly at that. 

“I think you got enough of that.” Tony says. 

At that the conversation stalls for a time. Tony, garbed in goggles and work gloves, watches as sparks fly off of the gauntlet for a new suit. Bucky, in turn, averts his eyes from the glare and stares at the floor. Drilling awkward little holes into the spot directly behind Tony’s stool. They go on like this for about ten minutes before Bucky opens up a new life of questioning. Clearing his throat and casting his line of sight at the side of Tony’s head. 

“Why didn’t you kick me out?” Bucky questions, “I mean, you coulda’. It’s not like I’d tell everyone where you were.”

Tony seems to ponder the question for a second before responding. 

“Well, A. we live in a world with telepaths. That alone could be problematic.” 

Tony shoots a sly smile Bucky’s way before continuing. 

“Also, Friday’s right. Before, I may have. Though understand, Roger’s didn’t exactly give me much time to comprehend the situation, okay? But overall. I need someone who has been where I have. Who can stop me if things go off the rails. . . put me down if it comes to it.”

Bucky’s face goes slack. Sadness clearly permeating his features. 

“I, uh, try to avoid the whole killing thing. Had a few incidents after I was “saved.” You know how it goes.” 

Tony doesn’t move away when Bucky leans his head into his shoulder. When he takes a few shuddering breaths to right himself. This is because, in the end, Tony does know how it goes. Knows the hidden paths of his brain that take him towards the darker parts of his consciousness. Where help and kill, and maim and save have all become synonymous. He also knows how good it feels to touch. To have contact that isn’t an expression of violence: Casual and light. There’s a lot to say for the five senses. Tony can feel Bucky shake. He can smell his sweat as he relives something that Tony has no inkling about. Hell, Tony can even hear the other man’s heart and it skyrockets and then drifts back down into a normal rhythm. At this point they were brothers in both torture and in the spilling of blood. Instead of trying to make a joke, Tony just stares down at the back of the other man’s head. 

“Your therapist talk about sharing or something?” his tone isn’t vicious. Just even and casual.

“Yeah, a lot actually. I guess I’m not just here for you. Y’know? It’s. . .” Bucky trails off. Doesn’t finish his sentence. 

“I get it, yeah.” Tony responds. “You should get some rest. We’ll try this sharing thing or whatever tomorrow. Yeah.” 

With that he feels a small nod press itself into his shoulder before feeling the contact of skin against skin break away. He hears Bucky trod up the three steps into the house and close the garage door behind him. As the sparks of his blowtorch swelled, as did the feeling of emptiness. His eyes locked on a task. 

\----

Bucky Barnes didn’t believe in fate or destiny. Hell, he didn’t even know if he believed in a higher power. What he did know was that Tony seemed to be mimicking how he was before. Looking for answers in doing. Trying to lose himself in the familiar. If Bucky knew any better, he would say that the man would never be able to do that again. He knew things about pain. About what it did to you. Also, about what it can still do to you. Steve would never know, but sometimes he couldn’t differentiate new friend from new foe. Sometimes he broke his own fingers when the void inside him grew too large and Steve was off at mass, confessing a sin. Confessing the sin of them, he supposes. 

It’s weird. Most times, Bucky can handle it. Can picture Steve in the old days. Sunburnt on worn streets. A sun-dyed blond creeping down from the top of his head and trying to work its way into his eyebrows. Summer months leading to burnt skin and Bucky’s cool hands tracing the outline of some sun-dried punk with lotion. Of thinking about how it would be so simple to retrace the lines of his fingers with the blunt points left behind by his lips. But looking at Tony now, Bucky’s nerves were inconsolable. A dark cloud reigning over rose tinted summer days. This is one of the first times he understands the difference between being in a car crash and watching it happen in front of your very eyes.


	10. Chapter 10

When he sleeps, he remembers pain. It’s dark and deep and feels like it’s added an extra thirty pounds onto his heart. His subconscious is always moving when he slumbers. Always picking up the pieces of his fractured memory and holding them up to his face. It’s like a toddler showing off a toy, if said toy was covered in viscera. It’s not only the sights, but the scents he experiences. The taste of his blood on the back of the tongue. Other blood and bile whirling around his nasal cavities. It never seems to end. It lasts so long. Sometimes, when a moment of clarity hits him before he truly breaks the surface of his dream, he wonders if he’s in hell. Though he never questions if he deserves to be there. Not even once. 

*

Bucky Barnes was not one to get involved. Ever since he had been freed from the confines of his mind he had never bothered to really integrate with anyone. It was mainly Steve and after that there weren’t many people he had taken an interest in. Widow, maybe, but only because of their shared history. Another blemish and another reason to barricade himself in his and Steve’s room. He wasn’t sure how far he would be able to get with Tony. There was only a very certain amount anyone who had the misfortune of having a history like his could bare. However, he figured that didn’t mean he shouldn’t at least try. With thoughts of Howard in his brain, it was really the least he could do. Howard, with his tears dripping onto cold metal and warm flesh. Terror and blood and misery all smeared upon his face. On nights like this, Bucky would retreat onto Steve’s dick or into his ass. But he wasn’t there. With nothing but the moon and the idea of Howard, he was forced to ruminate and drag his mind through the mire until he eventually fell asleep. 

*

He was roused from his dreamless sleep by a sizzle. Bucky’s mind immediately went to bacon. It then did a U-turn back to the bigger picture and put a large line under “breakfast.” Dragging himself out of bed, the alarm read eleven in the morning. He shambled to the ruck sack he prepared on short notice. Hastily thrown items of clothing tossed into the bag upon Friday’s call. He hadn’t unpacked anything. Hadn’t given the matter much thought, really. But mentally he told himself it was irrelevant. He could unpack or not. Living out of a bag had never really bothered him much before.

When he was dressed, he opened the door and was immediately accosted by a plethora of smells. Pork, eggs, and baked bread, he observed. He was ready to hop into one of the two chairs that occupied the kitchen before he noticed a peculiarity. 

“Friday?” His voice questioned ad was met with a pleasant chime of recognition.

“Where’s Tony?” 

“Well,” the ai began, “he’s still in the garage. The boss is almost finished upgrading the new suit. Or, he was, before he fell asleep at the bench.”

“And you didn’t think to wake him because?” 

“Well, there was no reason to. I regulate the levels of gas, electricity, and water flowing into this house, so he wasn’t in any danger. Plus, it is familiar. I downloaded a few thousand psych articles on comforting those with PTSD. Familiarity is good and Mr. Stark is used to falling asleep at the wheel.”

Bucky thinks on it and then hums an affirmation. He also takes a seat and begins to pile his plate with various portions of the meal before suddenly asking another question.

“If Stark’s asleep then who. . . “

In response, a slim metal body floated into the room. Well, not floated. Bucky could see that the automaton had legs. It was just so graceful that he had not noticed the lower half move. It was thin and looked as if it’s main body and limbs were just thicker versions of multiple chords wrapped around each other. Banded. This fed into mechanical feet and hands, exactly like a humans except for them being a shiny chrome. The head was interesting, as the chords fed into a ball, approximately where the base of the skull would be, split into opposite direction, took a sharp upturn, and then curved back to meet each other. Effectively giving the shape of a square. Within the space provided appeared a hologram of a stick figure smile. 

Bucky was happy that his attention to detail had never wavered as he didn’t have the time to really inspect the being before it served him coffee, finished cooking, and was out the door again. As it departed, Tony had come into the kitchen looking quite unperturbed. He took a seat across from Bucky. Taking in his confused expression, he cleared his throat.

“She told me about him yesterday. Apparently, Fri made him. Besides the obvious philosophical implications, I’d say she did a marvelous job.” 

“Just going off your blueprints, Boss.” Friday responded. 

Bucky wasn’t shocked, but he wasn’t super happy with the situation. The robot was just another thing for his sleep confused mind to possibly kill in the middle of the night when he had to take a leak. But the eggs were damn good, the bread too, so he figured he could let it pass. Anything that could cook wasn’t that bad. He did have another inquiry to make of the engineer, however.

“Friday said you were making another suit?” he questioned.

Tony puts his coffee down and looks at him. His brain connecting something that he can’t quite catch before Stark is responding. 

“Well yeah. I’m pretty shredded after the bloody boot camp I went through, I’m physically larger so I don’t really fit as well as I did. Plus; New body new limits. I could probably pull off more speed. Definitely involve some new technology for my enhanced reflexed. There’s always limitations but. . . “

Tony continued to talk about his project while Bucky looked at him. 

“How much of your torture do you remember?” he interjected suddenly. 

To that, Tony gave him a blank stare. One that very soon turned into a very guarded one. 

“Not much. Friday said that Wanda did something to my brain. Put a sort of block in there.” When Bucky tried to speak again, Tony interrupted him with equal speed. “And no, I don’t know if It’ll be a steady trickle or a sudden collapse and as far as I know Wanda probably doesn’t either.”

They had silence after that. The Grim quiet only broken by the clang of silverware against plates and the sound of chewing. Both of their eyes were set on the food. Tony began again after his plate was finished. 

“I get smells. That and tastes sometimes. I woke up a few times and almost puked last night. Think I tore someone’s throat out or something. There’s slivers in my brain and each one has a different image. It’s like if you. . . if you put a TV screen back together with fragments of other TVs. Each one still showing their original show. . . “ 

Tony’s speech slowed down, and Bucky rose slowly. He lingered at his chair before crossing the gap around the table and placing his hand on Tony’s shoulder. Tony was quiet. Still in a way that made Bucky nervous. 

Tony leaned into the contact before quickly backing away, sending the chair skidding across the floor. His eyes looked murderous. Though he tried to help himself, Bucky took stock of every sharp object in the room. The engineer was looking positively primal. Teeth bared and muscles tense. This animosity, however, was cut short as the bot from before entered the room. Stick figure features disappeared in a haze of static and it began to, from Bucky’s point of view, unwind itself and wrap around Tony. His arms and legs restrained with the robots own corresponding limbs, the bots head cables disconnected at the top and rested gently on Tony’s temples. Soon after, the man’s eyes closed gently. 

Slightly disturbed, Bucky’s thoughts were interrupted by Fridays voice. Now hollow. All about the business of protecting her charge.

“Do not be alarmed Mr. Barnes. I created this droid to restrain Mr. Stark. He is well aware of its purpose and understands what it does. When he awakes I’m sure he will be relieved to hear you are well. Until then, feel free to use the facilities. If you require an alibi there is a com station upstairs with its location encrypted. If Steve Rogers asks, you are enjoying California very much. The waves this time of year are wonderful.” 

The robot then seems to use Tony to walk itself, and him, out of the room and back into the ex-assassin’s abode. 

*

Seated at the com station, Bucky’s hand nervously hovered over the call button on the hollo-screen. He left a note saying he was leaving, but as it stood he knew Steve would still be worried. So, he finally allowed his finger to hit the red pocket of electrified air, and saw the call get picked up almost immediately. 

“Bucky, that you?” Steve’s voice was tense, concerned. 

“Uh, yeah babe. How. . .” Before he could finish Steve was already talking again. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Uh, yeah. I just needed to get away. From everything. You remember how the therapist said that could be an option right?” Bucky didn’t like to admit it but he could spin lies finer and more detailed than precious silk. 

“Yeah. . . yeah,” Steve responded. The tension bled out of his voice and he sounded genuinely happy. “Long as you’re fine. Take all the time you need. Don’t worry about money either. You took the credit card I gave you, right?” 

“Yeah, I got it.” He remembered when Steve gave him that card. Told him the American government gave him a bunch of money and that he didn’t have to worry about nothing. That he could have anything. This was before they were married, or even together, though. In the end, Bucky got the only thing he had wanted at the time. 

“Good. I uh, I talked with the priest at the church today to.” Steve began. His eyes looked indecisive. 

“And?” Bucky’s tone was less than friendly. The priest, and the congregation, didn’t outright say anything about him regularly being balls deep in one of America’s most beloved icons, but in the end, it didn’t stop their glares. Or the whispers. Not to say all of them were assholes. Just some. 

“And he said that what I, what we, do is a sin. He won’t budge.” At Bucky’s hurt expression Steve rushed out the rest of the sentence. “So, I left the church and found another one.”

Bucky’s pretty sure his face was in a state of permanent confusion. “But you love that church. You’ve been going to that church since you were. . .” 

“I know, but listen.” Steve takes time then, and Bucky knows that means he means what he’s about to say. “It’s been tough. For both of us. In the end, I had to look at myself and say that anything that would hurt you can’t be worth it. You’ve been pulling away recently and I don’t. . .” His blue eyes glance downward. “I don’t want you thinking that you have to take on any hurt you don’t want to. If something doesn’t rub you the right way, you gotta’ tell me okay? I’ve been fighting with that priest for a whole year about us. I pick up on some things but with the Avengers and the whole Tony situation and. . .”

Bucky is grinning like an idiot. He’s so blissful he almost forgets to build upon the lie he’s crafted. Which, makes him feel like a bit of a dirt bag actually. 

“Tony situation?” he feigns. 

“Yeah. Don’t panic, because I know you wanted to clear things with him. But as of two days ago he escaped. Wanda helped him get out.” 

Steve looks tired and Bucky knows the reason.

“You got chewed out, huh?” 

Steve nods a yes before continuing.

“I took personal responsibility for his case. Everything that happens from here on out is on me. He gets hurt or hurts someone, it’s on me. I’ve had Widow out searching and the techs here scouting but we can’t find anything. . . “He stops suddenly, a look of realization on his face. “I’m sorry babe. I shouldn’t be putting this on you. Especially since you had to leave. Stress and all that. Where are you anyway?”

“California,” Bucky says. Clean and sterile. That’s how his tone has to be. “The waves are really nice this year.” 

“Gotcha. See you soon?” Steve asks.

“Soon enough.” Bucky responds, flashing his husband a smile and earning one in return. 

“Bye.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back baby! But for real though, I'll probably start having shorter chapters updated more frequently. Sorry for the wait my dudes.

At the precipice of the abyss, one would never truly know the feeling of falling until they leapt. Until they threw themselves into the inky murk and heard the wind rushing passed their ears for all eternity. Tony dreams that he’s falling. He’s sidewinding and rushing towards an end that will never come. There’s no sharp spikes at the bottom and he isn’t sure whether that is a blessing or a curse. There’s never an end to things like this. Never a beginning either.  
-  
When Tony Stark awakens, he is not Tony Stark. He’s not the creation of a mad scientist either. He shuffles out of the room on autopilot. His footfalls barely make a sound as he moves passed a slightly confused man in a kitchen. The body recognized the other man is saying something to him, is inquiring about something. His ears don’t want to work though. Or, to be more precise, it’s his brain that seems not so willing to pick up on what the other man is trying to communicate. 

Then, rather suddenly, he seems to dissolve and then reassemble back into himself. His consciousness grows from what was a faint fog to something consolidated, compacted, and solid. Tony Stark’s body tenses as he comes back into himself. He nearly almost jumps out of his skin when he hears a familiar voice. 

“Tony, are you alright?” Bucky’s measured tone cuts through the drone of the refrigeration unit and the coffee pot pouring its contents into a cup. 

He takes a moment. Really thinks things through, because if Tony Stark was honest with himself, he would admit that maybe he hadn’t really asked even himself this question as of yet. Still, he replies curtly.

“Nope.” 

With that he simply sits back down at the kitchen table, accepts the cup of coffee from the automaton, and begins to sip on the dark beverage.

“Do you. . . want to talk about it?” Bucky’s face matched his feeling about those very words. In the end, he knew, people never wanted to talk about what ailed them. Sometimes, though, they needed to. Furthermore, he was also quite surprised when Tony simply bobbed his head up and down. 

“I remembered a bit from my time as a killer. Not the torture, the killing.” He inhaled deeply, held the breath, and let it out slow. “It was a woman, her husband, and her kids.”  
He’s shaking a little as the last of the sentence leaves his mouth.

“There was something about her working in an energy field. Something big. I was supposed to just slip in, obtain the documents, and slip out but I was new. Still clumsy. As clumsy as I could be with this body at least.” 

There’s no emotion in his tone. Bucky understands that this next part isn’t going to be particularly pleasant. 

“I don’t remember. . . but for some reason she and her family got back to their home early and I . . .” Tony is breathing hard now. His eyes are watering and his stare is boring a hole into the floor. “I killed the husband first, and then her. They went quick. But then I saw the kids and there must have been some part of me left because I tried to run but that fucker. . . whoever went messing with my insides came up on my com link. Ordered me to lock them in a closet. To start the fire. . .He laughed. He fucking laughed as I . . .” At that tony slammed his fists into the table. Bucky flinched but admired the structural integrity of the furniture. Tony’s head was now laying crumpled on his arms. Bucky couldn’t tell if he was crying or just trying to control his breathing.

“Do you know what kids sound like when they. . .” Tony’s echoed voice begins before Bucky slides his hand across the table and lays it on the back of Tony’s head. The table is small enough for him to bend over, placing his head besides Tony’s and nuzzling into it. The only words Bucky says to the wrecked man are the ones that he knows are true and whose ghosts are still as fresh in his mind as Tony’s. 

“I do.”


	12. Chapter 12

He’s in a chair of some kind. Its icy metal is digging into his back and for some odd reason he’s covered in bruises. After this realization the smell hits him. Looking down he can see that he’s vomited into his own lap. There’s no real reason he should be strapped to a chair, cold vomit soaking into the rags that were his pants, but his brain supplies that perhaps there doesn’t need to be a reason. Maybe things have always been like this. There was only pain and the smell of puke. Only skin sticking and tearing on harsh surfaces. . . 

What was he going on about again?

-

Tony sprang from the table. Bucky’s expression seemed curious but not exactly shocked. Tony didn’t know what that was, but it wasn’t enjoyable. It was pain and a coldness that echoed in his bones but was unfamiliar to his brain. 

Bucky rose from the small table slowly, raising his arm and approaching the other man as if approaching a wounded animal. 

“Hey there buddy. You still with me?” His eyes were searching, but his body was tight and closed off. A readiness for battle naturally punctuated in his slow movements. 

Tony took a few breathes before nodding his head, although somewhat uncertainly, up and down. His lungs seemed strained but willing to gulp down air in uneven intervals. 

“I’m not sure what that was.” Tony murmured, “but if I had to guess it would be Wanda’s magic winding down.” Both of them thought on the idea, unmoving, until Tony’s face suddenly took on an abstract panic. To Bucky it looked like the man’s brain was moving fast, faster than his facial expressions could keep up with. Suddenly, and with a tight tone, the inventor spoke. 

“You need to go back to Rogers.” 

“Wait, what?” Barnes inquired, his own face molding into one of confusion. “Why?”

“I can’t be responsible for what happens if all of this goes downhill. I keep getting these flashbacks. Keep feeling like my lungs are about to burst open. Sometimes I can still smell blood. So, Barnes, I’m asking you, leave.”

Bucky was surprised by the frankness of the statement. But he supposed Tony wasn’t exactly in the snarkiest of moods after what he had been through. That didn’t, however, dissuade him from fighting.

“No way. I have one arm, I get it, but I haven’t seen anythin’ that would make me leave. Besides, I could still probably kick your ass all over the house if you needed it.”

“Bullshit.” Was the other man’s only response. “Get out, no objections.” 

Before Tony could turn, however, there Bucky began again, somewhat irritated.

“Listen Stark, I get it, I really do. Having Hydra bangin’ around my skull for the last few decades hasn’t been fun. Sometimes you think you’ll just snap. Slaughter everyone you care about in a ten mile radius and then have to put the pieces together again. But in the end, it won’t happen.” He was gritting his teeth now, brain trying to put the next set of emotions into the appropriate words. “But it won’t Stark. You won’t, because you’re you. Y’know. You aren’t your conditioning – “

“Oh fuck off Barnes. We all have our stories, yeah. But I was never like you. I was never a soldier. I was just some guy you and your blonde fuckbuddy left in that fucking bunker.” Bucky seemed to physically recoil at that, seemed to shrink in on himself. “and if you think I’m gonna’ just risk this, risk whatever stability I’ve put together in this short time because you think you can what? Stop me?” Tony gave an incredulous look towards the brunette, “then you are out of your mind because I have oceans of blood that have. . . that have. . .“ Suddenly there was a look of pain on his face. Tony’s knees hit the floor and Bucky approached, concerned. 

“Stark, what’s wr-“ he wasn’t able to finish his sentence, however, as he took a boot to the gut, being thrown back and busting through a set of cabinets. 

“J-Just go.” Tony screamed. “Please!”

Finally, picking himself up off of the floor, Tony left the kitchen. He swiftly stumbled to the garage before an audible locking could be heard, followed by what Bucky could only make out as a set of heavy deadbolts. For the first time since he arrived, he was having thoughts about getting backup. Tony was right in the end. If the engineers mental state did collapse then there was no way a one-armed man would be able to stop him. Words weren’t exactly Bucky’s strong suit either. 

Heading to his room he opened and closed the door quietly. Flipping open an old flip phone and scrolling through it. He paused on only two names. One being Steve’s and the other being Natasha. He then made up his mind before hitting enter on the phone pad and hearing a faint ringing from the outdated device.


End file.
